


Of Compromises

by holograms



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bad Decisions, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alexander said <i>even better</i> he meant it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Compromises

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote these a while back on my tumblr from various prompters. I don't know how I got here. Don't look at me.
> 
> The tags pretty much says it all: the 3 B's. And "210 slutty, slutty years" Hamilton.
> 
> It switches perspectives in the middle section, and then back.
> 
> Thank.

“We had an arrangement,” James Reynolds says. “Remember, if you don’t pay—”

Alexander waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll expose me. Let everyone know how you tricked me into fucking your wife.”

Reynolds looks taken aback that Alexander could be so blasé about the whole thing. He tilts his head, making that stupid hat slip further down his forehead. Reynolds really is a dumbass, Alexander decides.

Alexander leans against the door frame, and sighs. “Come in, if you want,” Alexander says, bored. He doesn’t bother to shut the door and he doesn’t wait for Reynolds, but he hears the door close behind him and Reynolds’ footfalls follow.

It will be easy, Alexander thinks.

Reynolds waits until they’re in Alexander’s office to confront him. He says, “I’ll do it. I’ll ruin you.” His eyes flit around the office, as if he's taking note of the fine construction of Alexander's home. “You can afford it, obviously. And you can’t afford not to.”

Alexander smiles, motions for Reynolds to sit in the chair next to the desk. Reynolds does, albeit slowly, and quirks his brows at him.  Alexander keeps smiling, pours Reynolds a sizable serving of whiskey, pushes it across the table.

“You know, Mr. Reynolds, I am in the President’s cabinet,” Alexander begins.

“I believe that’s the goddamn reason why I’m blackmailing you," Reynolds says.  “You have something to lose.”

Alexander gestures to the drink, making sure Reynolds drinks it down before he continues. “As I was saying. Part of my job is making important decisions with many people, people who have differing opinions. But we have to all agree in the end. I make sure compromises happen.  Understand?”

Reynolds scoffs. “Fascinating. But I’m not sure what that has to do with anythin’.”

Alexander takes a drink directly from the bottle before setting it on the desk, and then leans in, placing his hands on the arm rests, caging Reynolds in.

“I was thinking,” Alexander says, “that we could come to a compromise of our own.”

Reynolds sucks in a sharp breath. “What kind of compromise could you offer me?” He licks his lips. “I have the upper hand, here.”

Alexander smiles. “We can figure it out as we go,” Alexander says, and he sinks to his knees, dragging his hand down to Reynolds thighs as he goes.

Reynolds, jolts in the chair, goes, “what the fuck, Hamilton?” but Alexander shushes him, puts a little pressure on his legs so he parts them wide so can slip between them.

“I was showing you how compromise works,” Alexander says, and it’s true — it’s akin to the recent deal for his bank. He trails his hand up Reynolds’ thigh, reaches to undo his breeches. “I’ve been told my mouth is worth something. It’s gotten me far.”

Reynolds doesn’t stop Alexander, but shifts in his seat. “I was wrong. You’re the whore. Not Maria.”

Alexander winces at the choice of words. He tries not to think about it, or why it bothers him, too much. He focuses on pulling Reynolds’ cock out of his breeches — that’s already at half-mast — and wraps his hand around him loosely and strokes him to full hardness as he speaks.

“I am a proud man,” Alexander says, “but I do have my faults. My vices.”

“Like sucking dick?” Reynolds is laid out in the chair, willing as Alexander has his hands on him. Alexander knows he means the comment to sting, but it merely encourages Alexander on; Alexander leans forward and licks at the head of Reynolds’ cock, lightly tugs at the foreskin with his teeth.

Alexander shrugs as Reynolds dissolves into a shuddering moan.

“I suppose,” Hamilton says. “Me, fellatio. You, extortion. We all have our thing.”

“Shut up,” Reynolds says, and fists his hands in Hamilton’s hair and guides him to his dick. Hamilton keeps eye contact with him as he swallows him down, and relishes in the fact that Reynolds has to look away.

Reynolds keeps his hands in Hamilton’s hair, tugging at it when Alexander does things he enjoys, which happens a _lot_.  Alexander gives it his all, sucking him off there in his office; he learns what Reynolds likes quickly, the tight wet heat of his mouth around him, pulling off and pressing on the underside with his tongue, sucks at the head, digs the tip of his tongue into the slit that’s leaking out precome and when he feels Reynolds’ thighs start to shake he wraps his hand around the base and pumps him as he stretches his mouth over him until his mouth meets his hand, enveloping his cock fully.

Alexander lets him come on his face because Reynolds seems to be the type to be into humiliation. He guesses right because Reynolds moans out a shuddering, “fuck,” when he sees white streaks coating Alexander face, arches his back as Alexander strokes him to milk out more. As an extra touch, Alexander holds his mouth open to capture some of his come in his mouth, swallows it down, and then licks over the head slowly, making Reynolds whine with oversensitivity.

When it’s done, Alexander sits back, wipes his face with the back of his hand. “A suitable compromise?”

Reynolds lets out a laugh. “Yeah. Fuck, man.”

Alexander does not miss Reynolds’s eyes flitting down to where Alexander is hard in his breeches.

Alexander smirks, and dips his hand down to palm himself. “Want to watch?” he asks, and Reynolds nods eagerly — and carefully observes as Alexander sits bare-assed on the floor and jerks himself off.

“You can touch me, if you want,” Alexander says. Reynolds bites his lip and shakes his head. His dick is still hanging out of his pants, and Alexander swears he sees Reynolds hands twitch to touch himself. He doesn’t though, even though he’s got a white-knuckle grip on the arm rest when Alexander comes. For show, Alexander brings his come-covered fingers to his mouth and sucks them.

“Nasty fucker,” Reynolds says, and Alexander pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a _pop_ and goes, “Vices.”

After, Reynolds quickly excuses himself; fumbling with tucking his dick back into his breeches as he goes to the door. Alexander follows him, says, “It was a _pleasure_ doing business with you,” emphasis implicit.

“Fuck you,” Reynolds snarls.

Alexander shrugs. “I would be amenable to that.”

Reynolds scowls, leaves without another word.

The next night, Alexander is not surprised when Reynolds shows up at his door.

Pressing Alexander up against the wall, Reynolds asks, “How long does it take for your fancy government compromises to conclude?”

Hamilton hums against his mouth, pulls back, bites his lip. “Days,” Alexander says, knocking off that idiotic hat Reynolds wears. “Weeks, sometimes.” He puts the hat on himself, tilts it to the side. “Sometimes they’re ongoing.”

“I see.”

Alexander takes him to his bed (“This is where I fucked your wife,” Alexander says, as he straddles Reynolds, and Reynolds just shoves at him, pulls his clothes off of him but Reynolds growls, “leave the hat on,” to which Alexander just laughs and says, “Kinky. I like it”).  Alexander rides Reynolds quick and unrelenting wearing nothing except the stupid hat, rolls his hips against his and grinds down on his dick, makes sure that this is the best lay James Reynolds has ever had. Will ever have. This time, Reynolds touches Alexander without Alexander prompting him. Hamilton is amused at how Reynolds approaches it exploratory; how Reynolds reaches down to rub Hamilton’s balls, then thumbs over his slit, how Reynolds gasps when that makes Alexander moan and clench around his dick, how Reynolds strokes him with interest, then tightens his grip so Alexander can fuck up into it. He keeps doing it enough that Alexander comes first, spilling over Reynolds' hand. Reynolds retracts it back with surprise, but then lazily strokes him through it, until Alexander is writhing on his cock because he’s too sensitive but Reynolds doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop touching until he’s coming himself, releasing deep inside of him.

Alexander tosses the hat to the floor, rolls off, lies next to Reynolds, and grimaces at the feeling of come trickling down his thigh. He would suggest that Reynolds eats him out, but he figures that will take a few more transactions.

“I think,” Reynolds begins, disturbing the silence, and Alexander turns to look at him. Reynolds’ chest is still rapidly rising and falling, sweat beaded on his brown skin.

“Yes?” Alexander says, and leans in to nip at his sharp, stubble-lined jaw.

Reynolds swallows. “I think,” he says again, “that this is going to be one of those ongoing compromises.”

“I agree,” Alexander says. “Lots to discuss.”

Alexander leaves Reynolds snoozing in the bed, and then writes a suggestive letter that he’ll send to Reynolds tomorrow that’ll establish his security to ensure that Reynolds won’t expose him, because he won’t be able to without damning himself, too.

It starts, _James, I was pleased with your Company on the night of the twenty-fourth, despite the misgivings I might have had I am Amenable to your charm—_

Alexander is playing the long game, after all.

 

*

 

“I thought you said that last time was the last time,” Hamilton says, nuzzling his face against James’s thigh. “But here you are. Can’t get enough.”

James shivers at the scrape of beard against his skin; he swears that Hamilton does it just to remind him of their indiscretion. Which Hamilton does often — lying himself out like a whore with his legs spread and stroking himself and begging _please touch me_ , or kneeling down between his legs and saying _I need your cock in me_ with his ass stuck in the air, like he’s asking for it. Hamilton makes himself inviting, irresistible, to where James really has no other choice but to fuck him — Hamilton’s shapely hips and thighs, skin that reminds James of a warm summer day, dark tresses of hair that hang around his face, pink full lips, inky black eyelashes, soft breathy moans — it’s a sin that Hamilton is as beautiful as he is.

So, it’s all Hamilton’s fault.

James tells him this and Hamilton just laughs.

“Right,” Hamilton says. “I _made_  you come over here, push me against the wall and ask for me to suck your dick.”

James is ready to say it doesn’t matter whose fault it is, because there’s a definite lack of dick sucking happening — Hamilton keeps teasing him with licks around the head and light strokes, never enough to give any relief but enough to edge him into wanting more.

“Your letter,” James feebly says as an explanation, because how else should he interpret _your display of Manhood keeps me quiet, my mouth otherwise Occupied_?

(James had read it one, twice, jerked off, and then added it to the bundle of other smut-filled letters that Hamilton has sent him.)

Hamilton smiles the smile of a man knowing full-well what he’s doing. He stares at James up the line of James’ body, keeping his gaze as he takes James’ cock in his mouth, this time with purpose, sucking at the head and pressing his tongue against the tip. James lets a sharp _ah_ escape as Hamilton continues, stretching his lips around his dick as he slides down to take more of him into his mouth, settling there until he pulls off and drags his tongue along the underside as he goes. It’s like Hamilton is enjoying this as much as James is; Hamilton moans filthily around him, arches his back, spit running out of his mouth with enthusiasm of the act.

James tangles his hand in Hamilton’s hair and says, “I’ve gotta give it to you. You’re a good cocksucker.”

Hamilton pulls off, licks away a smear of precome from his lips. “Thanks. I perfected this particular skill during the war.”

James scoffs. He doesn’t doubt it. Hamilton uses sex as a weapon, after all.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” James says, and tries to guide Hamilton back to his dick but Hamilton shakes away his touch. It isn’t a surprise — the man loves to resist. James has the sense that very few people have ever got the better of him. He tries not to think that he isn't one of them.

Instead, Hamilton bites the inside of James’s thigh, laughs when James' leg jerks, and then dips his head down, licking heavily at his balls. It feels…nice, but not enough to appease and he came here for a _reason_. He’s about to tell Hamilton that he better put his mouth back on his dick or he’ll do it for him, but then Hamilton parts James’ thighs and then licks over his hole and—

“Holy fuck!” James’s hands fly to Hamilton’s shoulders as he throws his head back into the pillow. At first, James thinks that maybe Hamilton made a mistake but then he realizes that isn’t possible; Hamilton doesn’t make _mistakes_ , not anymore, every move of his is precise, and well. It feels too fucking good for it to be a mistake. Hamilton licks around the rim, dips his tongue into him before dragging it out and lapping at him.

“Disgusting,” James moans, but his body betrays him, wrapping his legs around Hamilton and pressing himself onto Hamilton’s mouth.

“Want me to stop?” Hamilton’s breath is cool, blowing against the wet around his hole.

James grabs Hamilton’s hair and shoves him back down.

“This is the last time,” James says, groaning as Hamilton eats him out.

Hamilton lets out an amused laugh. “If you say so,“ he says, unconvinced.

 _Let’s just see about that_ , James thinks, but he isn’t really convinced, either.

 

*

 

When Alexander said _even better_ he meant it — having James Reynolds watch in fascination as Alexander opens himself up and fucks himself on his fingers is pretty much the best scenario for all. Alexander is sure to moan exaggerated, makes himself look inviting, and he lets his legs fall apart a little as he beckons Reynolds to him.

Reynolds shuffles towards him, glances down at where Alexander has his fingers buried in himself. “Are you sure, Hamilton?” he asks and Alexander sighs exasperated but then remembers that most men aren’t practiced in this as he is. He drags his fingers out of himself and then grabs Reynolds’ dick (the yelp of surprise from him is _wonderful_ ) and lines him up to his hole, and Alexander says, “when you’re ready—” and he doesn’t get out much more before Reynolds roughly thrusts into him.

Reynolds seems to delight in Alexander’s grunt of pain, but Alexander won’t let him win; he remembers what he’s he for. Alexander wraps his legs around Reynolds, rests his heels in the small of his back, encourages him on. Alexander says, “No wonder your wife cheated on you, you don’t know how to fuck.”

Reynolds quickens his thrusts and growls, bites at Alexander’s neck. “Shut your mouth. I still have the letters to expose you.”

Alexander lets out a laugh, and tilts Reynolds’ face up so he can look at him. Alexander _tsks_ , and says, “But now I have some leverage,” and he pauses to moan because now it feels good, despite Reynolds basically having no idea what he’s doing.  Alexander continues, “You won’t give anybody those letters — in fact, you’re going to burn them — because now I can write and tell everyone that you’re a sodomite.”

Reynolds stills, and there’s a moment where he stares in disbelief at Alexander, but then Alexander pulls Reynolds into a mocking kiss and says against his lips, “Gotcha.”

“Fuck you,” Reynolds says.

“You are,” Alexander replies, “or least you’re trying.” He slaps Reynolds’ ass. “Please keep going.”

If protecting his legacy meant a random fuck, then. Even better.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at tumblr at [acanofpeaches](http://acanofpeaches.tumblr.com) for more...whatever it is I do


End file.
